


Kiss

by WeirdHybrid



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdHybrid/pseuds/WeirdHybrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which "you" kiss EXO (OT10). </p><p>Essentially, these are all little scenarios that I thought fit their personalities, with the exception of Xiumin... I can't imagine Minseok's the type to make out with a stranger in a record store, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chen

        You weren’t expecting it at all. I guess that was the point. Jongdae loves nothing more than frightening you, pranking you, making your heart race.

        You are waiting for him to pick you up, and you’ve just stepped outside your front door, prompting you to check your phone for a third time: Jongdae isn’t late without a good reason, and he was supposed to be here more than ten minutes ago. But here you are, standing outside your house, looking expectantly up and down your street, willing the headlights of your date’s car to illuminate the otherwise dark and quiet road.

        As you paw at your phone once again, you hear a rustle of leaves behind you. There are a number of over-active squirrels that occupy your neighborhood, and you turn to see if they’re terrorizing your birdfeeder again. But no, nothing looks out of the ordinary to you, and you turn back to scan the road impatiently.

        Within a minute, there is rustling again, louder and closer than before. You feel a thin line of electricity tingle from your lower back up to your scalp, and you turn around to see what is making such noise. In the dark, you see the trembling shrubs near your front door, but the culprit is still invisible to you. A few cautious steps forward, silence. You decide it may be better to wait inside with your nose pressed impatiently against your window, and you move to open the front door when you hear quick footsteps approaching behind you from the street. Too quick.

        Hand on the knob, you whip your face around to see your pursuer, your skin prickling with panic. The figure is crouched low as it reaches you sooner than you expected. Bulky arms wrap around your waist and you’re off the ground, your body twisted in its grasp. You gasp sharply in shock, inhaling the scent of the man’s neck, exposed just under the collar of his dark wool coat. You immediately recognize his spicy, almost peppery scent, triggering your heart to seize as it always does with Jongdae. The familiar coat also registers, then his voice rings in your ears, his boisterous, barking laugh filling your adrenaline-confused head.

        “Gotcha!” Jongdae spins you around in his capable arms, as you futilely shove the heels of your hands into his shoulders, wriggling to escape his sneak attack. Your breathing is coming out in huffs, leftover fright exhaled into your obnoxious boyfriend’s hair.

        “Put me – down! What the hell, Jongdae?!”

        He immediately stops spinning, planting his feet in the grass. You finally get a decent look at him, and heat rises in your chest and neck – he has the most triumphant, mischievous, shit-eating grin on his face, and it drives you crazy that he got you to lose your cool like this. But looking into that face, you’re even more pissed because you feel the fight leave you, melt away at the sight of his gorgeous eyes, acutely cut cheekbones, and shiny, lush hair. He is glorious – and a total idiot.

        “Put me down.” The edge in your voice is gone, now that your faces are this close together, and your breathing is erratic for another reason entirely. His eyebrows lift slightly, and he sets his lips together in resignation. Without warning, he releases the tension in his arms, letting you fall. But he immediately resets his hold on you, bear hugging your waist tightly. The false drop got to you though, and you accidentally let out a squeaky, incoherent noise, causing Jongdae to howl in laughter again, throwing his head back mirthfully. What a douche.

        You whine in embarrassment and annoyance, the tremors of shock reverberating on your skin. His smile is positively gleeful at your reaction, and his eyes settle on your pouting bottom lip. You stop twisting away from him when you see his smile fade, his eyelids dip into a softer, sweeter expression, and you know that he has you so far gone, it’s terrifying.  His lips are parted, and his voice is low and warm when he speaks.

        “Did I scare you, babe?” Holding eye contact, he firmly hitches you up in his grip, arms around your hips now, so your shoulders tip forward toward him to balance. He tilts his angular chin up as your face lowers toward him automatically, angling to the right just a bit. Gravity links your lips to his, your hair falling around you both as you kiss. You feel Jongdae’s arms tighten around you in response to your tongue against his top lip, and you smile, knowing that perhaps you have some control here, too.

        The adrenaline of the last few minutes mingles with the heat of this moment, and you grasp at his coat collar to steady yourself, your lips hungry for his. Now it’s his turn for his voice to betray him – a small moan catches in his throat, escaping his mouth in a needy, breathy exhale. You can’t help snickering at the reversal, breaking the kiss.   

        Blushing, he lowers your feet to the ground, your pulses equally quick. Looking up now into his shining eyes, you’re satisfied that at least you both know how to push each other’s buttons.

 


	2. DO

        You’d think that on his days off from his demanding schedule, Kyungsoo wouldn’t want to cook for you, but when you protest his offer to prepare dinner for you both, he explains that cooking is his way of showing affection. That quiets your guilt.

        As he slices a variety of vegetables into impressively uniform slivers, you lean against the counter off to the side, watching him work. He is adept here, his hands efficient, his eyes lowered to the task in front of him intently at first. As he progresses through his preparations though, he becomes more and more confident. His posture changes minutely as rich smells start to fill the kitchen; his shoulders drop naturally and his spine straightens, his usual introverted impression giving way into the comfortable, warm environment.

        You chat back and forth, joking and enjoying each other’s company. He occasionally invites you to help in small ways - mixing a thick red paste, grabbing the glass bowl from that cabinet, whatever his skilled hands are too busy to do for themselves. At one point, you turn around from the refrigerator too quickly, a bundle of carrots in hand, and you step right into him, just as he’s reaching for a jar from the top shelf above you. You pause where you are, scrunched between him and the cool open refrigerator, and he laughs as he extends his arm to reach his next ingredient, his rolled up sleeve brushing your ear, a whiff of his clean-smelling skin interrupting the layered food smells throughout the room.

        As the meal comes together, you sit across from Kyungsoo at the bar, continuing to watch him transform the haphazard pile of produce and other ingredients into something delicious. You understand what he means about food being his display of affection – he moves through the space with great care, his alert eyes measuring his progress, every choice he makes with your enjoyment in mind. You’re becoming increasingly hungry as the thick smells hang in the air around you, and you find yourself leaning forward across the counter, trying to guess how much longer until you both can sit and savor the product Kyungsoo has been so focused on. He stirs the bubbling contents of a pot on the stove, and knits his brows together. His bottom lip pouts out slightly as he assesses the concoction, and he looks up at you quizzically.

        “I think I need a second opinion.”

        You hop down from the bar stool and join him next to the steamy mixture. Your hips touch, and he loops his left arm behind you, his hand resting on the small of your back, fingers brushing at the fabric of your shirt lightly. He dips the slim wooden spoon into the pot with his other hand, drags it against the side of the pot so it won’t drip, and raises the spoon up for you to taste. You feel his fingers curl against your back just a little when you extend your neck and open your mouth to test the sauce.

        It’s subtle at first, but the spice kicks in soon, and your tongue is overwhelmed with flavor. It really is delicious, and you nod vigorously when you see Kyungsoo’s expectant, wide eyes peering at you from under his shiny, dark hair. He smiles, his adorable lips curving into a heart at your approval. He returns the spoon to the pot, and pivots back to you as you continue to savor the tastes playing on your tongue. His right arm, now unoccupied, extends forward so both his hands can now rest on your waist.

        “Might I have a taste?” he says as he pulls your hips in toward him. Such bold flirtation from Kyungsoo is rare, and you lay your hands on his chest in response. The heady smells from the stove surround you as he gently kisses you, your lips still tingling from the sauce. The kiss is sweet and light at first, but then you feel his slick tongue run along your top lip, then the bottom, tasting the heat that has lingered there. You press into him and sneak one hand up into his hair as he kisses you, his tongue making your head feel light and fuzzy. Too soon, his wet lips part from yours, and he laughs under his breath as you break apart. You are surely betraying yourself by looking less than dignified, because after he clicks the burners off, he turns to look at you with familiar calculating eyes, taking in your flushed cheeks, your short breaths, your weak knees. One eyebrow plays up on his face just a twitch.

        “Yeah, I think it’s ready.”


	3. Kai

        You distinctly remember watching the beginning of the movie, but when exactly you fell asleep is less clear. You remember Jongin angling toward you during the first few minutes, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eliminating any space between you as you settled in for the film. It was something heady and convoluted; perhaps that’s why you had fallen asleep. While you had been leaning against him at the start, your head resting against his shoulder, one hand placed cautiously on the outside of his thigh, you find yourself now entirely horizontal, hair splayed across his legs, head resting on his muscular leg, one hand wrapped rather possessively around his knee.

        You haven’t moved since you awoke because you’ve just now realized what did the waking – Jongin’s long fingers are entwined in your hair, making soft, repetitive motions against your scalp, both thrilling and relaxing at the same time. Your sleepy brain has jolted awake, and you decide to stay as still as possible, feigning sleep a little longer to fully enjoy this moment.

        Unfortunately, your uncontrollable heartbeat quickens as Jongin’s light tough travels from your hair to the small depression behind your ear. The skin is so soft there, and you feel a sense of fascination in his fingertips as he continues to explore. You remain still, though you are more aware of your hand curving around his knee, itching to slip it further up a few inches. His fingers trace patterns on your neck, your ear, your temple, your jaw, and it is taking every bit of your will power not to _rake_ your hungry fingers up his leg.

        You keep your breathing under control with growing difficulty, but you know your heartbeat is entirely too erratic for sleep, and you hope your exposed neck isn’t giving that secret away. The movie continues to play as Jongin’s fingers become slightly more insistent, the pressure building in his hands from a curious wandering to a slower, deeper touch. His fingers burrow into your hair again, and you feel his short nails against your scalp as he massages. The motion is repeated, and without meaning to, you feel your own fingers curl around his leg impulsively, reacting to Jongin’s therapeutic touch. He doesn’t stop, though. Rather, his deft hands fully commit to massaging your resting head, both of his wrists working pleasant, buzzing pressure into the movement.

       You’ve closed your eyes again, allowing your mind to empty, focusing only on the trance Jongin’s fingers seem to be putting you in. His thumbs find a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and as they press down, you let out a small, unintentional moan of appreciation and pleasure. He stops at the sound, his hands still wrapped in your hair. Mild embarrassment at your vulnerability wakes you up fully, and you sigh, pressing your hand into his leg to support you as you lift your body up from its prone position. As you rise though, Jongin’s hands stay laced behind your head, keeping your body close to his. You shift to look at his face, to maybe apologize for falling asleep, but the look in his eyes above you steals your thoughts from your mind.

        He looks almost confused, with his mouth open in a small ‘o’ shape, his eyebrows slanted up just slightly, but his eyes are sharp, staring brashly into yours. You blink, hyper aware of his hands holding your tingling head. Still feeling vulnerable, you drop your eyes from his intense gaze, and suck your bottom lip just behind your front teeth, a nervous habit from your childhood. A _groan_ , quiet and low, escapes Jongin’s lips, and suddenly his grip is needy, bringing your face up to meet his.

        Your lips move too quickly, there’s too much heat, but the messy, noisy kisses are all you both want right now. Your fingers tease at the neck of his shirt, his rake at your hair, creating a rhythm for your mouths to match. Breathing comes hard and fast between you, and you reposition yourself to kneel in front of him, one knee pressing in on each side of his right leg. You’re at a higher angle than he is now, and your hands travel up into his hair to return the tantalizing favor of his attention, while his shift down, lingering around your waist.     

        His fingers begin exploring again as you continue to kiss deeply, reaching up under the hem of your shirt. He finds your spine, and places his hands on either side. At another small hum of pleasure from you, he presses into your lower back muscles evenly, his firm hands massaging your warm skin. In response, you break away from his slick tongue and use your own to prime his bottom lip. With another surge of pressure from Jongin’s hands, you seize his _obscene_ , swollen lip in your teeth and moan into his open mouth.

        Something in Jongin falters, and you can feel his hands tremble against your back. You release your bite, and he is panting. His gorgeous eyes find yours, the heavy lids and fluttering lashes fill the space between you with both longing for more and an overwhelmed reluctance to continue. You are both still, breath returning to a normal pace, and as you move to go back to your original position beside him, he holds you in front of him for one more second. His hands reach up again to your hair, carefully laying errant strands back into place, brushing the long layers back behind your shoulders, tucking a few pieces behind your ear. He smiles, eyes shiny and languid in the calm after your heated exchange, and as you lean back into the space next to him again, he laces his fingers with yours.


	4. Lay

        In a casual setting, you’re both working independently, sitting across from each other. Perhaps you’re studying while he’s working on a song lyric. You’re focused on your work, headphones playing quiet, heady instrumental music, and as you continue to make progress on your notes, your study habit kicks in, and you bend your body further forward, crunching up around yourself.

        After several minutes of this, your neck starts to ache at the strain, and you straighten up to stretch. You start when you see that Yixing is no longer focused on his notebook and phone, pencil eraser resting on his curved bottom lip, like he had been last you looked up from your papers. Rather, he is leaning back in his chair, head cocked slightly to one side, surveying you with heavy-lidded eyes. The look is not predatory or off-putting, but more curious, peaceful; he is still, and you get the impression he has been in that position, watching you, for some time.

        Aware of his attention now, you meet his gaze, but before you can put down your notes, remove your headphones, or even say anything, Yixing leans forward, his eyes more alert as he slowly and steadily moves his body away from his resting position toward your frozen frame. His taut forearms press into the table between you as he rises off the chair, still holding your gaze.

        Just a few inches from you, he pauses, leaning on the table, and you can see his eyes take in the details of your face. His vision rests on your lips for a few seconds, and you feel your cheeks heating up quickly. He notices too, and he smiles, his plush bottom lip widening, his dimples deepening, making your heart stutter tellingly. His eyebrows lift at the center of his face, and his sweet grin is approaching you again. His hands move from the table to the sides of your head, his fingers gently touching your ears, your hair, his thumbs resting on your cheeks. You blush hotly at the touch, and he smiles wider at your timidity. Though your music still fills your ears, you can make out the words formed by his pursed, expressive lips -

        "I just can’t help myself.”

        He guides your face toward his own, and his kiss presses against your lips just enough to part them, the warmth and wet of your mouths meeting. You can feel his easy, steady breath mingling with your own sporadic inhalations, his touch reassuring and calm. His long, slim fingers tilt your head back just slightly, as his body shifts up and forward, and he is kissing your top lip appreciatively, cradling your head in his graceful hands. Every movement, every slow flex of tongue and jaw, he dictates - somehow, you are transfixed, mind manipulated into some motionless reverie, powerless to Yixing.

        Slowly, he pulls back, leaving one more quiet kiss on the corner of your mouth, returning to his lax position in his chair, his eyes shining with heat. He picks up his notebook again, gamely returning to the task at hand. Still reeling, you attempt to regain composure, reluctantly return to reality, but when you steal one more look across the table, you notice Yixing running his tongue along his sinful bottom lip, once, twice, and closing his eyes with an expression like not wanting to wake from an immersive, sweet dream. 


	5. Sehun

        You and Sehun are standing together outside a restaurant, talking quietly. It’s late evening, and your date is winding down as the minutes tick by. You don’t want the night to end; conversation was easy over dinner, Sehun’s humor as dry and playful as ever, and you particularly enjoyed the minutes when you let Sehun’s long, skinny legs lean against your own bare ones under the table.

        But now that you’re outside, wrapped in a long coat, you’re not sure how it’s going. You’ve been looking up at him, thinking maybe he’s grown disinterested because of his stony expression and monotone voice. The wind blows cold and you shiver.

        Your shoulders rise instinctively at the sudden chill, and without a word, Sehun pivots his body gracefully to stand fully facing you, shielding you from the wind. His hands are sheltered in his pockets, but he attentively leans forward, his broad, angular shoulders curving toward you, creating a warm spot in the concave. He takes another step toward you, wordlessly inviting you into his space, to cling to him against the harsh night air. 

        You silently thank him by pressing your forehead against him, anchoring your balance on his chest. Your breath against his sweater is humid, and in the hollow his body creates, you start to warm up. You stay this way for several minutes, the sound of the wind ruffling his coat around you, your feet planted close together inside his own, your fingers curled up between your warming bodies, toying with his sweater's luxurious knit texture. Enjoying the stillness, you feel Sehun’s chest rise, and he starts to hum your favorite song. The timbre of his voice is muted by the wind, but you can feel his chest vibrating, and you close your eyes. The space between you is heating up, and he removes his hands from his pockets, resting them on your upper arms, holding you closer, swaying only slightly, as he continues to hum.

        After a while, he is quiet again, and you can feel him drop his chin, lower his head slowly, and twist his posture so his tickling breath travels from your ear down your neck. He pauses, his mouth waiting achingly close to your skin. His hand moves confidently, his fingers touching your neck as he moves your scarf away, and with your collarbone now exposed, he lightly brushes his lips against the sensitive skin there, so light in the chilly night air that you’re almost not sure he really touched you. But there is his breath again, this time right at the base of your neck, and he hums just a short string of notes together, the vibration of his lips feeling your pulse under thin,electrified skin. Two _slow_ inhales, as he skims his lips up toward your ear again, his hand moves to the back of your neck, and he kisses you once more, his tongue barely wetting your earlobe. You shiver again.


	6. Suho

        He picks you up in his expensive, but visually modest, black car. The sleek leather interior smells laundered, if that’s possible, and it’s one of many small details that reveal Junmyeon’s attentive, thoughtful personality. You lean back in the spacious passenger seat and take a better look at him. His clothing is similarly tasteful to his car – unassuming in their simplicity (he reserves the flashy items for shows and public appearances), he sports slim charcoal trousers, fashionably hemmed to reveal neat leather shoes and the tiniest sliver of ankle, and a dark plum-colored sweater, the crisp white collar of a dress shirt visible above the knit neckline. He smells vaguely of cologne, but again, nothing invasive or obvious – woodsy, warm, and increasingly appealing with proximity. An unembellished, sleek watch glints from his wrist, a single thin chrome ring from his right ring finger.

        As he starts the car, he turns to you, resting one hand on your knee lightly. “I’m so glad we can spend this time together. I have some plans prepared for us today. Are you ready?” His straight teeth flash in an endearing, innocent smile before he gently squeezes your knee once, and you’re on your way.

        Everything about Junmyeon is measured, but that’s not to say he isn’t romantic. His plans begin by visiting a sprawling garden, wandering the extensive, peaceful paths together, hand in hand. You sit on a bench to watch a pair of small children feed the ducks, giggling at their clumsy, exuberant play. It’s such a charming scene, but you feel Junmyeon’s eyes routinely wander back to you instead. Rather than catch him looking, you continue to laugh with the children, enjoying the peripheral attention, and you flush slightly as he laces his fingers tightly with your own.

        A trip to a bakery is next, and with sticky pastries and coffee in tow, you window shop as the sun begins to set. As the date progresses, you notice more of the sweet little details you now associate with Junmyeon: how he walks on the outside of the sidewalk between you and the increasingly busy street, his unfailingly generous gratuity, his steady but gentle hand on your back as he holds the door open for you. His conversation is equally thoughtful; it’s disturbingly rare to find someone so cultured but still humble, but Junmyeon pulls it off with grace.

        His focus on you is rapt during dinner, and you are more than a little impressed that someone as busy as him hasn’t checked his phone once. As you discuss family, travel, and aspirations, you take the opportunity to unashamedly admire his features. He isn’t overtly masculine; there’s a more nuanced, graceful quality to Junmyeon than in other men you’ve met. Upright posture, but not stiff. Neatly cut hair, but not heavily styled. From far away, he might come across as too polished, but having spent the day with him, you enjoy picking up on the moments when Junmyeon’s veneer falls away, and that’s when your heart kicks just a little.

        Like when you ride the elevator after dinner from the restaurant’s upper deck and he looks at you with a childish grin as he pushes the button for the bottom floor. He takes your hand and bends his knees, looking at you expectantly. You mirror his movement, slightly confused, but his infectious smile wins you over. The elevator descends and you hold hands, waiting for some unspecified moment. As you near the ground floor, he grips your hand a little tighter, then… “now!” You both jump as the elevator levels out, feeling suspended in the air for a precious few seconds. Your eyes go wide at the sensation, and he tilts his head back, laughing loudly.

        Exiting the elevator, he loops an arm around your waist, explaining that he used to play that game with his parents as a child all the time. You value that moment more than the elaborate plans, the luxurious car, or the delicious, rich meal. That open, easy laughter ringing in the small elevator lit you up, and you are determined to hear it again, to see his eyes close tight in uncomplicated joy.

        Out in the street, you snake out of his hold, skip forward a few steps, and turn to face him. He pauses, eyes trained on yours, curious. You do your best to echo the look he gave you in the elevator – childish, mischievous, flirty. With a wink and a quick flick of your hair, you take off running, weaving between the meandering evening crowd.  
You look back and see Junmyeon in hot pursuit, smile wide and eyes narrowed. He trails you as you make your way up a less crowded street, twinkling lights shining above you. You dart down another side street, hearing Junmyeon’s voice calling your name, approaching faster. Another turn reveals a dead end, a wrought iron fence woven with lush green vines blocking your escape. You turn, breathing fast, and Junmyeon is there, triumphant before you. He cocks his head a little, peering into your eyes from under long lashes.

        “You want me to chase, you, huh? Are you trying to get rid of me?” He steps closer to you, leaning forward slightly, his hair fluffy and fallen at the front from running.

        “Not get rid of you, no. I just like playing games with you, oppa.” Your back is against the fence, the breeze wafting through it cooling your neck. Junmyeon chuckles at this, drops his gaze from yours, and musses his hair. His eyes lift gradually, taking his time on your legs, your hips, your waist, before landing on your eyes again.

        “Does that mean I won?” You reach out and take a bit of his sleeve between your pointer finger and thumb. It’s even softer than it looks.

        “You tell me.”

        He takes the last step toward you, his face just a few inches from yours. The cool night air passes between you, but you see his cheeks are a toasty pink. You drop your arms flat against the fence at your sides as he leans in closer.

        You’re expecting a chaste, respectful kiss befitting a gentleman like Junmyeon, but when you close your eyes, you feel his arms reach out on either side of you, grasping the iron fence behind you, closing the gap between your bodies. Pressed against you, you feel his lips touch yours, and there is a small spark where they meet. Your eyes fly open at the unexpected shock and Junmyeon’s breath catches in momentary surprise.

        One second, two, then he’s kissing you, pulling himself even closer, his hands gripping the fence. You reach your arms up behind him, stroking his shoulders and back with your palms and fingertips. His sweater is absurdly soft under your hands, his scent is complex and spicy, stronger since your dash through the streets, and his lips are as honest as anything he’s done all evening. You practically hum at the heady pleasure of his kiss, and he smiles, exhaling in short laughs against your lips. His mouth leaves yours, drifting away along your cheek. His chest angles slightly, and his lips are at your ear.

        “I win.”


	7. Tao

        He parks his car in front of your building, but it’s another hour before you even think about heading for your front door. It’s a cool night, and the buzzy warmth of alcohol has worn off, so you stay hunkered in Zitao’s toasty car, engine off, radio playing quietly.

        The flirty conversation within is an extension of a frivolous, exciting evening. He had brought you along to the birthday party of one of his closest friends, a shorter guy with raucous highlighted hair and a small, childish mouth. You blushed the first few times he’d introduced you to his friends; Zitao’s smooth, masculine demeanor gave way to a giddiness that bubbled up when he said your name to Jongdae, Luhan, and Yifan. You were intimidated and overwhelmed by the absurd beauty of these men; every one of them was visually stunning, all sharp angles and clean cut shadows, even with the tell-tale ruddy cheeks and amplified voices resulting from the quickly depleting collection of cheap booze on the kitchen counter. But in a sea of shiny white teeth and long, muscular limbs, Zitao pulled your eyes away from the crowd.

        It was charming to see him so at ease with his brothers, laughing and joking, his eyes, which had compelled you so strongly when you’d first met with their dark, mysterious lines, were now squeezed shut in mirthful arcs, his infectious laugh peeling out around the room. He tended to present a façade with people, opting for a cool, distant attitude, but here, with his friends, he was quick to laugh, and a little whiny, especially with Yifan, and clearly very well loved. This was a new side of Zitao, and it made him even more attractive to you.

        Sitting in the car has a pleasant, enclosed feeling, like the confines of the car make the leisurely conversation more private, more intimate. You both turn in your seats to face each other, and you compare stories from the evening; you hear more about each person you met, filling in the outline you have of their personalities after the party. Zitao asks you your opinion of each one, his heavy, warm eyes locked on yours as you describe your impression of Jongin’s shyness and Baekhyun’s wit, how Chanyeol had been generous with the liquor in the messy but delicious drinks he’d supplied for everyone. Zitao’s smile perked up at your praise; his friends were so important to him, and clearly this party had been more an audition for your approval than you’d realized.

        “I really loved them all, Tao. They’re so fun! I’m really glad you brought me along tonight.” He grins and sighs with relief, running his ring-covered fingers through his stylishly choppy hair.

        “I told them to behave. I didn’t want them to spoil this…” He stops, realizing what his words suggested.

        Zitao had not been particularly forward with you up to this point in your first few weeks of dating; hand holding and compliments have been the extent of it so far. This was fine with you, you weren’t a particularly demonstrative person yourself, though the heat of the alcohol tonight had activated the more lustful corners of your brain, and it was hard to forget the rush you’d felt when Zitao had curled his hand around your waist, squeezing just a little, amidst the loud antics in the kitchen earlier.

        “Spoil what?” You cock your head a little, playing with a now nervous Zitao, who looks mildly flustered having broached a subject he had not intended to address tonight.

        “Well, you know… they can act like idiots sometimes and I just… I didn’t want them to scare you away.”

        “They didn’t. I like them…” You gather the remnants of whatever courage the booze had prompted in you earlier. “And I like you.”

        Zitao’s eyes snap up from their vague wandering around on the dashboard to your own. You smile and drop your gaze. You had hoped that your boldness would encourage reciprocation from Zitao, since it seems like he isn’t going to take the reins on this relationship without some assistance. But he keeps his hands regrettably to himself when he replies unevenly. “You do? I like you, too. And I’m glad you came with me tonight, too.” You share meek, shy smiles, and the pulsing beat from the radio fills the empty air between you.

        You decide this is enough progress for one evening, and it’s close to 3:00 anyway, according to the glowing digital clock in the dash. “I should probably go in now, it’s pretty late.”

        “Yeah? Okay, yeah, you’re right.” Zitao stretches a little, his arms extended out in front of him toward the windshield. The light from the moon and the surrounding buildings filters onto his skin, and his taut forearms draw your eye again. A bracelet dangles from one wrist, a leather cord looped four times around.

        You slowly climb out of the car while Zitao turns the engine off and comes around from his side. You both walk up to the entrance of your building, the brassy yellow sconces illuminating your date’s handsome features that had been shrouded in the car. You fiddle with your keys and your phone, allowing yourself a few seconds of distraction before looking back up into Zitao’s magnetic, disarming eyes. His lips are parted slightly, and his shoulders are raised; his jacket is still in the car, and the chill of the early morning air isn’t exactly hospitable.

        “Thank you again for inviting me. I had a great time.” You decide to give him one more shot to make a move. You stay still, facing him, key poised in one hand.

        “Me too.” He smiles slightly, and leans forward on his toes toward you, his hands deep in his pockets against the cold. “Sleep well.” And there, where you thought a tilt of the head and a touch of lips to lips might have come, instead you watch him angle his head more than he should, and his lips touch your rosy cheek lightly. There is no sound, and no moisture in the kiss; it’s modest, almost laughably old-fashioned, and immediately when Zitao pulls away, his sweet expression morphs into something like confusion, then disappointment, then exasperation. His eyes widen, then narrow from furrowed brows. His hands are out of his pockets, palms facing up laxly in front of him, mirroring his vexed facial expression. You can’t help but smile, the skin on your cheek tingling like you’ve spent the day in the sun, but before you can respond, Zitao is already retreating to his car, head bent and shaking back and forth.

        You watch him pause outside the driver side door, avoiding your gaze. “What did I just DO?!” The irritation in his voice is so adorable paired with the clumsy kiss still warming your cheek, and you feel amusement rise in your chest. He slumps into his car and you crouch a little to see him hanging his head a bit, looking defeated. Through the closed car door you hear him again, louder this time, hands gesturing up in front of him again. “Get it together Tao, you kissed her on the damn cheek?!” His eyes close tightly, as if to block out what just happened, and he drops his head down onto the steering wheel, immediately engaging the shrill car horn. The jarring sound causes you to jump, as does Zitao’s high-pitched shriek of fright from inside his car. His eyes are huge, a grimace marring his features. After a second or two of pure shock, he lays his hands on the steering wheel, shakes his head once, and starts to laugh. You join him from your front steps, laughing at the shock and sweetness of the last minute. He turns to wave through the window, starts his car, and pulls out into the road, leaving you looking after him, more endeared to him than is probably wise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The events in Tao's chapter actually happened to me on a date a while back. Three cheers for awkward cheek kisses!


	8. Xiumin

        You have only had the courage to stop inside this record store once before. It’s the kind of place you wish you were cool enough to frequent, but the rakishly perched hats, flawless oxblood lipstick, and wicked leather jackets donned by its regular customers intimidate and deter you from entering usually. But in an effort to be bold, you force your combat boot-clad feet to walk their way through the front door, past the absurdly chic cashier. She has a slick undercut in a vibrant shade of violet and a dainty septum piercing… you try not to stare too long, opting to smile at her sheepishly and head for the R&B section.

        MGMT is playing throughout the store, the looped, skittering tune easing you out of your mild social anxiety. So maybe you don’t have a cool haircut, and maybe you can barely walk in heels of any sort, let alone the gorgeous, studded deathtraps that tall girl in the punk section is sporting. But you know music, and flipping through these uniformly organized, colorful records calms your mind.

        Making your way through the tabs, pulling a vinyl out every so often for a closer look, you start leaning into the next song that plays. You recognize a remix of James Blake; it’s punchy, and the beat seeps into your neck, your shoulders, your knees. You’re a pretty horrific dancer, but you can keep a beat just fine. You sidle into the jazz section, not looking for anything in particular, chin bobbing in time to the song, when you feel that vague tingle around your hairline you get when you’re being watched. You look up and scan the store.

        Badass-cashier-girl is chatting with a tall, older man in a pea coat, studded-heels-girl seems to have left, two teenage boys toting skateboards are perusing the rap albums, and a slim, youngish guy is dragging his fingers across the records in the aisle opposite yours. He’s very… very cute. His gray hoodie is loose on his slight but masculine frame, the sleeves cut off bluntly at the shoulders, revealing cut, firm arms. His sandy hair is in disarray, spiked up and forward above his straight brows and alert brown eyes. Which, you notice with a start, are looking right at you.

        You look down instinctively. Had he been looking at you before? When did he come in? Do you know him? You flick your eyes up and again meet his gaze, which, now that you have a second look, is seriously seductive. There is no mistaking the dropped angle of his head, his dark pupils dissecting yours under thick, smudgy lashes. His pert mouth is pursed slightly, the hollows of his cheeks defined in shadow. Shit he’s hot.

        Again, you look down at your hands, a small shiver flashing up your neck. Okay, hot-guy-in-the-next-aisle, what’s your move?

       You worry your bottom lip a little as you turn away from him, facing a new section of vinyl. There is a growing warmth in your cheeks, and the electric feeling that has encircled the nape of your neck fires again when you sense someone enter the aisle behind you. You don’t look up, but a few rows down, his wide hands start filing through the records methodically. You breathe in, trying to shake the static that has replaced rational thought in your head, but now you can smell him, and it’s something supremely masculine and singular, definitely not cologne, but visceral and spicy, and it’s filling your brain with girlish desire and _what is it about this guy_ –

        He’s closer now. Your heart is reacting to the proximity, and part of you wants to scurry away, since your flirting skills are about as impressive as your dancing, but the boldness that got you in the store keeps you still. You reach for a random record and examine its graphic cover, suddenly aware of the shortened space between you and the gorgeous stranger.

        “You a fan of theirs?” Oh my God, he is speaking to you. You turn your head, doing your best to wear a normal, pleasant expression, but surely failing in the face of his sleek cheekbones and direct, assertive stare.

        “Oh… um…” You hadn’t even registered the record’s artist when you’d chosen it. You think you should probably look at the cover, make something up in response, but he’s leaning his hip to rest on the case of records, his bulky, muscled arms crossed in front of him in appraisal, the sinewy strength beneath the skin there flexing and relaxing, causing a total lack of decent focus on your part.

        “I – I don’t know, actually. Are you? A fan?” God, you sound like an idiot. But he’s craning his neck forward to get a closer look at the cover, and his heady scent is intoxicating as you inhale a little too sharply. You hold the record between you, and he takes it, his fingers gliding down your wrist as he does. He considers it, then extends his arm across you to replace it with the others, his hips angled toward you, sinfully close now. You feel yourself pulled toward him, his body, but also fighting the urge to take several massive steps away from this intimidating creature, to a safe distance where he can’t tell how awkward and distinctly not sexy you are. But – holy shit – his hand, now free of the record, reaches for yours.

        “Not really. I prefer something a little more… unexpected. Come on, I’ll show you.” His strong, guiding hand leads you to the back of the store, and you can’t help but revel in the view of his slim-fitting pants shifting around his muscular legs and ass.

        These shelves run up to the ceiling, the distant light from the windows filtered and angled, creating shadows. He leads you around a corner in the dim light, surrounded by dark shelves of musical artifacts and albums, the slim aisles causing the music to pulse louder and heavier in your ears than in the open area at the front of the store. You feel like you’re in a maze, one from which you have no desire to escape.

        He slows, scanning the contents of the shelves, one hand gliding along them, the other holding lightly onto yours, and he pauses, turning to look closer at one particular section. He lets go of your hand to rests his fingers on your hip, angling you against the shelf he’s eying. He continues to look above and around you at the albums, and you’re forced to stay still, facing him, pressed against the shelf. In the smaller space, your senses are engulfed by him. His eyes are still wandering lazily around the shelf behind you, but you feel his hand against your hip shift, his thumb turning to touch just where your hip bone juts out, and he presses slightly. Your breath hitches at the touch, but in this position, you can’t help but submit to his fingers suggestion. Your hips rotate forward toward him and pull away from the shelf. At your response, he finally looks into your wide, expectant eyes.

        There is a moment of stillness in which you feel the familiar draw to retreat under his arresting gaze, but your senses are too muddled, too glossed over with fascination and attraction to be anxious. His lips are inches from yours, turned up inquisitively, and it’s too much to bear.

        You close your eyes and give into the carnal rush under your skin. Without thinking, you reach a hand out to his chest and grab a fistful of his sweatshirt, your lips meeting hungrily in the middle.

        The kiss is like glass breaking: a sheer shattering, a clean percussive shock to your system. His hand grips insistently at your hip, the other reaching behind you, fingers hooked on a shelf above. Your hands travel around his neck and into his hair, fingers transcribing your thoughts as you feel his tongue wet your lips. It’s almost claustrophobic as his hips press into yours, his knees on the insides of your own, and you’re entirely at his mercy.

        In the rhythm of the kiss, your body shifts slightly, your shoulder blades dragging along the row of albums on the shelf behind you. Jesus, you forgot where you were. You gasp a little into his mouth, and he pulls away a fraction. You are well and truly wrecked, and he sees the genuine shock in your expression. But there is pleasure there too, and your fingers are still tugging rather obscenely at his hair. Reality seeps back into your mind coolly, the blurred edges of your vision coming back into focus, though this only allows you to see his ruddy, lustful face more clearly. You have never had anyone look at you like this, like you are someone to be _worshiped_ , and you’re reluctant to let it slip away.

        But the seconds pass, and your shared breaths slow as you stay disconnected, eyes locked on each other. You feel a wave of self-satisfaction crest around your heart, and you smile. He raises his eyebrows in question.

        “That was unexpected.” And as if someone is feeding you a line, you hear your voice, more sure and strong than you’ve ever said anything. “You have good taste…” In your last fleeting moments of boldness, you extend your neck forward to kiss him once, twice more, your commanding lips pressing him back toward the other shelf. You separate, letting your eyes articulate your new-found moxie into his, and turn to make your way out from the maze onto the sunny street, a fluttery beat playing in your chest.


	9. Baekhyun

        “Are you sure we can’t just go to your place?”

        “Baek…”

        “Or really anywhere but here?” Your boyfriend of three months has stopped ascending the stairs in front of you, blocking your way up with both arms extended out, palms flat against the walls. His head is lowered, chin tucked down to his chest in a despondent posture. But you have been looking forward to this day for too long to give into his objections now. 

        “Baek! We’re already here, let’s just go inside. It can’t be that bad!”

        “That’s the problem. I haven’t adequately prepared you for what you’re about to see.” Baekhyun turns his head dramatically, talking over his shoulder in a hushed, troubled tone. You shove him in the back playfully, forcing him to climb up another stair. He laughs, but still flips his red snapback around backwards, a nervous habit of his. 

        The door to Baekhyun’s apartment is just twenty steps away, marking the entrance to a world guarded from you adamantly since you and Baekhyun had started dating. At first you had wondered self-deprecatingly why he would hide you from his roommates, but when you brought it up tentatively to Baekhyun a few weeks ago, he had flushed with embarrassment. 

        “It’s not you! God no, _you’re_ perfect. It’s… them. They’re… they’re animals. They’ll eat you alive.” Relief had replaced your anxiety momentarily then curiosity seeped in as well. 

        “What do you mean? Eat me alive… wha–” 

        “They’re just obnoxious. I kind of like that you are separate from them... That’s the only reason I haven’t introduced you to them, honest.” 

        So while you waited to meet his friends and roommates, Baekhyun had indulged your questions about them with lengthy stories paired with pictures from his phone. You heard all about tall, lanky Sehun and unflappable Jongin, who shared the room across from Baekhyun and Chanyeol, Baek’s best friend. There was handsome Junmyeon, who seemed to be the responsible one by Baek’s descriptions, and Kyungsoo, whose wide-eyed, innocent expression made an impression on you from the photos in Baek’s phone. How could such an adorable face belong to the person Baek had warned you about most firmly? 

        Resigned to his fate, Baekhyun trudges up the last few steps and pauses at the door. You wait patiently, and as he reaches for the knob, he pauses and looks over at you.   
“Please don’t hold this against me.” You grin reassuringly, tilting your head toward the door, nudging him to stop wasting time out in the hall. The curiosity is killing you.

        After making a show of sighing self-indulgently, Baekhyun turns the knob and ushers you into his bright, sunny apartment. First, you notice the smell: sharp burnt popcorn, and coffee, and a slightly acrid boy-smell, all poorly veiled by a heavy, metallic aerosol air freshener scent. Your nose scrunches up instinctively as you acclimate to your surroundings. You survey the apartment; the kitchen is to your left, an open living room beyond that, and a hallway housing the bedrooms to the right. It’s a big, airy space, and you’d probably like the furniture if it weren’t covered in discarded hoodies, balled up papers, errant computer cords, and dirty dishes. The kitchen is similarly disheveled, and you see the source of the smoky, harsh popcorn smell amongst other remnants of half-finished meals. It’s a little overwhelming, finally seeing the boy cave that belongs to your boyfriend and his closest friends, trying to absorb everything at once. Your eyes scan around haphazardly, flagging various details to remember later: a massive poster of Michael Jackson in the living room, a stack of English language and grammar books behind the couch, a suitcase open wide under the window, the fizzy electronic music playing from the elaborate sound system in the corner, an overflowing laundry basket placed deliberately in front of one of the bedroom doors. 

        A hand on your shoulder distracts you from your observations. Baek’s wide, apologetic eyes are on you, and you smile again. He has taken off his shoes already and you do the same, adding to the heap of garish sneakers by the door. As you straighten back up, you hear a voice from the living room area.

        “Holy shit, she’s real. Jongin, do you see this?!” You see a blond head has emerged from its previously prone position on the gray couch, angular jaw agape at your arrival. You recognize the flat planes of Sehun’s features from the pictures and grin. He is impossibly long-limbed, his skinny legs draped over the couch.

        “Huh? Who?” Jongin (you’re sure it’s him from his pouty lips and sleepy, soft expression) picks his head up from his laptop and bowl of Lucky Charms. Seeing you with Baekhyun, who is angled protectively in front of you, Jongin’s expression lifts into a sort of pleasant surprise, his eyebrows lifting in the middle. “No way!”

        “I was sure she was made up… where’s Chanyeol, he’s not going to believe this.” Sehun hops off the couch over the back, socked feet padding toward you. Jongin also rises from his chair, mussing his hair. They stand together, looking you up and down unabashedly. “She’s way too pretty for you, Baek. There’s no way she’s dating a dorky kid like you.” Jongin elbows Sehun, who takes another look at you, then turns to wander down the hallway, presumably to find the other guys.

        “I’m Jongin, it’s nice to meet you.” The brunet nods kindly to you, though you see him raise his eyebrows at Baek suggestively. Of what, you’re not sure. 

        You hear Sehun’s flat voice again, joined by a few others, approaching from the hall. Around the corner, Sehun appears with three others in tow. “See?” he gestures to you, then props one hand on his hip, the other finding Jongin’s shoulder. Referring back to your memories of Baek’s phone, you place the new faces with their names as they spread out, facing you: Kyungsoo, wearing all black, owl-like eyes widened in disbelief, Suho, his arm hooked around Kyungsoo’s neck, a grin playing at his mouth, and the tallest one of the bunch, Chanyeol, mop-like hair flopped over vaguely incredulous eyes.  

        “This is… the girl I’ve been telling you about.” Baek’s voice has a slight edge to it. You do your best to look both charming and unassuming, but the attention is a little embarrassing, and you feel your cheeks start to burn. 

        “She’s too cute for you, hyung.” 

        “Yeah, if you’re going to bring a fake girlfriend over here, at least make her believable.”

        “How much is he paying you to do this? Poor girl, she probably feels bad for him.”

        “Guys, come on. Be cool.” Baekhyun fiddles with his hat again. 

        “So was it your idea to wait this long to meet us?” You realize this question, posed pointedly by Chanyeol, was directed at you. You pause, not sure how to answer, because you’re not sure it was said jokingly like the others.

        “Right? Baek’s been talking about you for months, but every time we suggest you come over, he has some excuse.”

        “Baek, is she too good for us?”

        “We embarrass you, don’t we? Or are you worried she’d choose one of us over you?” 

        “Yeah, you should have shoved Jongin in a closet before she came in. There’s no comparison between you two…” 

        “So is this serious or are you going to break our Baekhyunnie’s heart?” 

        “Nah, she looks too nice to do that, though I haven’t ruled out the pity date.” 

        The questions and jokes overlap, the wall of new faces laughing and egging each other on. Baekhyun’s mouth is set in a line when you look at him for a reaction, and you’re starting to understand what he meant before about his friends’ rough first impression. 

        “I’ve… I’ve wanted to meet you all for a while, too. I thought maybe I was the embarrassing one.” You interject into the boys’ mocking comments, hoping to curb the tension you can feel coming off of Baekhyun, but instead it encourages them even more. 

        “Aw, Baek, you made her feel bad!”

        “Hiding a sweet girl like this away from us… so tacky.”

        “Yeah, what are you so afraid of?”

        “We don’t bite… well Chanyeol does, but that’s how you know he likes you.” They continue laughing, as Baek sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. 

        “He’s embarrassed now. Look how mad he’s getting…”

        “Angry Baekhyun is hilarious. His ears get all red, his accent comes out.”

        “You must really like this girl if you’re worried we’ll screw it up for you…” Chanyeol again, who has furrowed his brows in Baek’s direction. There’s a pause, the weight of that comment registering with the other guys.

        “Yeah, so what if I do?” Baek seems to regain his composure after the haranguing, returning Chanyeol’s assessing stare. “I _do_ like her. A lot. She’s important to me, so you need to get your crap together since… she’ll be coming around more often and… that’s how it is.” He voice trails off at the end a bit, but the guys are quiet in the wake of his proclamation. Baek turns to you, eyes wide again in anticipation. “I really like you. And I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says, smiling. And then his lips are on yours, soft and sweet and fleeting under the gaze of his friends, and you feel a tiny touch of pride in his kiss, as if it’s a relief to claim you as his girl unapologetically in this moment. You kiss back just enough, and when you break apart, you smile to yourself, validated. 

        Your audience of five takes a beat to acclimate, looking surprised, then impressed.

        “Well… welcome. We’re happy to finally meet you.” Chanyeol steps forward awkwardly and extends a hand toward you. You take it, laughing a little despite yourself. The tension washes away as Kyungsoo introduces himself, Baek punches Sehun in the arm, Suho starts cleaning up the kitchen, and Jongin offers you a bottle of water. You settle into the group, but a while later, Baek finds his way to stand behind you and rests his face on your shoulder. You feel his lips purse through your sweater, and you smile again, pleased that the hard part is over. 


	10. Chanyeol

        You end the call and feel the acidic frustration and defeat seeping through your body. You had kept your cool on the phone, but hot tears are clumping your lashes together and you feel your throat start to burn. You drop your head and weep, gritting your teeth at the rapid, disconnected flood of disappointment and doubt. But somewhere in your stomach, the self-pity gets spiked with rage, and something needs to feel pain other than you. So, you chuck your phone across the room, chasing it with a spray of venomous, corrosive expletives. It hits the front door of your apartment and lands face down on the floor with a dull smack.

        As if prompted by the impact, your door opens a crack. Grocery bags appear in the half open doorway, then a hesitant, apprehensive face above them. With eyebrows raised and mouth downturned, Chanyeol pokes his head into the apartment a little further. He scans the floor around the door and sees your phone, then lifts his eyes to you hunched over the kitchen table.

        “Baby?” And just that shred of sweet concern in his voice is enough to wring out fresh tears.

        He quickly drops his bags there at the door and rushes to your side, bending his tall frame to balance, knees bent, next to you. His hands hover over you as you cry, settling briefly on your hair, your back, your knee.

        “What happened? Did they call?” His low voice is so warm and worried in your ears, and you’re thankful for his timely arrival. You try to pull yourself together enough to sputter out that, yes, they did call, and they decided to offer the job to someone else. But speaking this ugly reality out loud revives all your pain and regret, and you’re crying again.

        “Oh baby, I’m so sorry…” And he’s there, catching you as you fall forward, holding you close to his chest. It’s enough to just be sad for right now, and somehow he knows that, and he supports your trembling, weak body in his comforting arms. He lowers you both down onto the floor beside the table, and he leans against a chair, combing his long fingers through your hair, waiting for the storm to pass.

        After a while you quiet, eyes closed, letting Chanyeol’s solid, steady breathing encourage your body back to normal. You shift a bit, relaxing from your defensive, cramped position, reaching a hand up to curve your fingers around his neck. You turn your face into his tear-damp shirt and nuzzle into his warmth, his familiar scent.

        “Thank you… you came home just in time.” Your voice in muffled against his shirt, but he’s nudging his nose against the top of your head and you can feel him smile just a little, his breath weaving through your hair, sending goosebumps down your arms. Your thumb plays on his skin, navigating in small circles around his neck, then up to his ear. You’ve had a soft spot for this feature of his since you met two years ago, and you take your time running your hand up into his hair and down the elongated arc of his helix, resting your fingertips on the lobe. You feel a pressure forming in his lips, a sweet kiss pressed into your hair.

        “I’m glad I could be here for you,” he hums, the low vibration of his voice soothing and gentle on your skin. “And I’m proud of you for trying… but something better is on its way.”

        “You think so?” You lift your head to look into his eyes, asking for one more reassuring word. He’s smiling that infectious grin that sends your heartbeat off into dangerous fits and starts, the pads under his eyes creasing in your very favorite way. In spite of your battered ego and the bruise of bad news, you smile back.

        “Mhm. Someone’s going to realize how amazing you are, and they’ll be so lucky to have you on their team. We just have to wait a little longer.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes when he says this, as if he is already making plans for all the great things the future has to offer you as a couple, and it’s just like sunshine.

        Chanyeol leans down, that goofy, perfect smile still playing across his face. It’s tingly and a little needy when you feel his lips on yours, your eyes and cheeks still a little raw from your crying jag. But his touch is tender, his arms wrapping around you a little tighter, communicating that dream job or not, you are more than enough for him. Sensing a residual fragility in your lips, he sets himself on his favorite task – making you laugh. He starts kissing the corner of your mouth, your nose, your blotchy cheeks, all in rapid succession, not dissimilar to a puppy’s fervent adoration. His hands hold your face on either side as he continues to layer kisses playfully onto your eyelids, your chin, your forehead, and you hear a sniffly giggle rise in your throat and spill out. Satisfied with himself, he helps you stand up, and with your hand held gently by his larger one, he presses his pink lips onto your knuckles, his kind eyes offering you his singular, unwavering affection.

        “I love you.” He speaks those precious words into your hand, his lips moving against your skin, and the black cloud of this day melts away in the sunshine of his eyes. 


End file.
